Why the Navy SEALs Are Men's Sexual Heroes
by TB's LMC
Summary: Whether you think the Danny and Steve pairing is bromance, romance or anything else on the spectrum of things it could be is irrelevant, because this? This is why Steve McGarrett drives Danny Williams insane.
1. Reasons 1 and 2

**Why the Navy SEALs are Men's Sexual Heroes,**

**Or**

**This is Why Steve McGarrett Drives Danny Williams Insane**

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong> With apologies to Peter Schorsch, who created the list which I had many laughs over, and can be found here in all its original glory: /2011/05/why-the-navy-seals-are-mens-sexual-heroes/. No infringement intended. But really...when you see a blog entry with this kind of title and you're an H50 fan, what do you expect? (And yes, this little work of showcasing my own brand of crazy will go through each and every one of those 21 reasons.)

**Summary: **Whether you think the Danny and Steve pairing is bromance, romance or anything else on the spectrum of things it could is irrelevant, because this? _This_ is why Steve McGarrett drives Danny Williams insane.

* * *

><p><strong>Reason 1<strong>

They drop in during the middle of the night, and they've come and gone before you know it.

Danny thought for sure he was in the middle of a cardiac event. Never mind that his heart was beating perfectly fine, albeit roughly fifty beats per second too fast. Never mind that he was still breathing okay and had no pains in his arms. Or the thin sheet of sweat his body was covered in, or even the way his sleep-addled brain tried desperately to figure out whether fight or flight was the best option.

It really didn't help at all to come to the (rather) quick realization that he didn't need to feel like his doom was imminent once he saw what he saw. Which was, as he sat up on his foldout bed, sheets already soaked around him with his I-really-didn't-need-to-freak-out-quite-that-much sweat, a six-pack of beer with four ice packs duct taped to its cardboard outsides.

Danny's eyes shot to his alarm clock. It was three in the morning, and for some reason Steve McGarrett had decided that was the perfect time to prove to him that their earlier cargument had not at all been won by Danny. Oh, no, this right here, this I-got-into-your-apartment-and-left-the-beer-for-you-to-prove-I-do-so-pay-for-our-beer-sometimes move by his far-too-stealthy partner proved that Steve had indeed won it.

And while Danny knew he'd probably lay awake the next two hours coming up with every single way he wanted to verbally fillet his partner when he showed up for work, the shit of it was, he knew that was exactly what McGarrett wanted.

Damn ninja.

* * *

><p><strong>Reason 2<strong>

They are good in tight areas.

"How do you even...Christ, McGarrett! With legs that long, how can you even-?"

"Danny, stop wiggling, for Chrissakes!"

"Well, excuse me for trying to get my hogtied self _out_ of the situation!"

"If you'd stop moving, I'd have had us out already."

"Yeah, no, see, that's where you're wrong, because you have way too many inches of arms and legs to even maneuver-"

…

"You were saying?"

"How the _hell_ do you do that?"

"I'm trained."

"To endure torture? Yes. To kill a man using a leaf, a grain of sand and the blood seeping from a gaping wound in your abdomen? Probably. But to get four feet combined of leg and probably three feet combined of arms...and no, I've never measured...out of ropes and handcuffs all while tied to my back? This I cannot believe you were trained for. How do you even come up with a scenario like that?"

"You have realized, haven't you, that I've got you untied, too."

"Huh. Well. Okay, then. I'll give you this one, McGarrett. But that does _not_ mean you get to go getting us into situations like this again just so you can show off your Houdini skills."

"Wouldn't think of it, Danny."

"Smug bastard."


	2. Reasons 3 and 4

**Reason 3**

Face down? Face up? Standing? Crouching? Underwater? It doesn't matter. They're getting the job done.

Danny hopped off the couch.

Steve laughed.

Danny scowled.

Steve snorted.

Danny gave a whoop of triumph.

Steve growled.

Danny yelped.

Steve laughed.

Danny cursed.

Steve bellowed, "Hooyah!"

Danny threw the controller onto the floor.

Steve pouted.

Danny asked Steve how the hell it was even possible to take out zombies when you were flat on your face on a basement floor.

Steve tried to show him the X-A combination of buttons he'd used.

Danny asked Steve how it was further possible to take a zombie out while being held down flat on your back by insane scientists.

Steve tried to show him the B-B-A-Y combination of buttons he'd used.

Danny really wanted to know how Steve could've possibly known three zombies were hiding in the hall when he was crouched down to check out Danny, half his brain eaten away by the zombie Steve had killed while on his back.

Steve used the little joystick to pan the camera around so you could see everywhere in the dingy old house.

Danny demanded to understand how it was even remotely possible to fire an antique Confederate revolver underwater from the lake some zombie had thrown Steve and Danny into.

Steve gave Danny a very patient look as he gently laid his controller on the couch. "Because," he told Danny, "it's a video game."

Danny threw up his hands.

Steve grinned.

Danny eyed Steve suspiciously.

Steve raised his eyebrows.

Danny flapped a single hand at Steve as he headed for the kitchen.

Steve loved video games.

Danny hated them.

And Steve knew it.

* * *

><p><strong>Reason 4<strong>

They didn't bring a change of clothes or a toothbrush, and they sure as hell aren't staying over. If they're still around at sunrise, something went wrong and their buddies are coming to get them. No man left behind.

The morning sun on the island was just too damn bright. That's all there was to it. No smog, no towering buildings or houses built too close together to even give you a respite in amongst all the greenery and coconuts and sand and way too much blue water.

Muzzy, that was the only word that came to mind as Danny tried to loosen his tongue from the cotton balls that felt like they'd been wedged into his mouth. No spit to be had, dammit, and the bottled water was just far enough that his arm couldn't reach it, face-down as he was at the edge of his pullout.

And then there was the pounding headache. Christ, how many shots had they done last night, anyway? Enough that when Danny had suggested calling a cab to get them home, Steve hadn't even twitched. Enough that when they got to Danny's apartment—closer to the bar than Steve's place—Steve had dragged himself out of the cab using Danny's belt...which thankyouverymuch had still been attached to his pants, the fucker.

Danny moaned, turning his face so it was buried directly in the sheet-covered mattress. Hampered breathing a little bit, though. Well, maybe Steve was awake enough to do something about the predicament of needing water and whatever painkiller of the week Danny had stashed in his medicine cabinet.

Oh, God, was it taking that long just to turn his face to the right? Yeah, hell, it was, and involved way too much in the way of thought process to get it there, too. Ah. Steve wasn't there. In spite of the inability to become animated, Danny distinctly remembered crawling onto his bed last night, only to be crushed by his partner, who promptly faceplanted half on the bed and mostly on Danny's back.

He remembered giving McGarrett shit, telling him to get the hell off him, only to realize Steve had passed out. Completely. Bad Guys of the Islands, you could've taken your worst nightmare out without so much as a whimper last night, missed your chance. And by default the bullet would've gone straight through Steve and right into Danny, because he never _had_ been able to get the dead weight completely off him before he joined Steve in stupor-induced unconsciousness.

As seemed to happen every time they went out and got smashed, and somehow never made it past Danny's apartment, dawn came to shove Danny into wakefulness way before he wanted it to. And his wakefulness always eventually brought him to the realization that Steve had left at some point during the night.

He groaned louder this time. That meant he'd have to get his own damn water and his own damn pills and probably would have to brush his teeth too, just to get the taste of toilet bowl out of his mouth. And he did not even want to know where that had come from, because, Christ.

As he struggled to make even one muscle cooperate through what was just one in a long line of Five-O-induced hangovers, and finally got himself up to a sitting position, he chanced a look out the window. His Camaro was sitting in its parking spot. It took a moment or ten for that to register, but when it did, Danny made the mistake of shaking his head and moaned in pain for the effort.

Funny how his car always magically appeared, and Steve always magically _dis_appeared, after a night like that. One of these days, Danny would have to remember to thank his partner.

But only after he'd bitched him out for not being there to get him the goddamn water.


	3. Reasons 5 and 6

**Reason 5**

Don't expect them to call (or even knock) first. They just show up. It's kinda their thing.

Danny sauntered out of his bathroom, towel wrapped tightly around his waist. He didn't wrap that towel so tightly around his waist because he was modest. Oh, hell, no, not while home alone. In fact, if Danny had a little more confidence in the blinds covering his windows, he'd be nude all the time. When home alone. Which he used to be a lot. But which he rarely was anymore. If ever.

Hm.

Nope, it was out of no kind of concern over a few moments of nudity that made him use the towel.

He walked into the studio part of his apartment and smiled. _That_ was why he always had the towel tightly wrapped around his waist when he emerged from the bathroom every morning. Because here, like this, even on his days off, his partner stood with his back against Danny's front door with his hands stuffed in his pockets.

And when Danny and his towel came into view, Steve always flashed him a brilliant smile, like he was never so happy to see anyone in his whole life. Danny shook his head and clucked his tongue as he headed back to the bathroom where, he noticed, he'd started stacking his folded clothing atop the toilet tank. Because since Danny was never alone in the mornings anymore, even on his days off, he couldn't dress near his foldout couch like he used to.

Maybe one of these days he'd have to ask if Steve could maybe knock once in a while.

But then, Danny reasoned, Steve might start making him do the same thing.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Author's Note:<strong>__ Tiny spoilers for Season 1 finale in this one._

**Reason 6**

After it's done, they leave quietly, purposely NOT talking about "how they feel about what just happened." Besides, they're already thinking about their NEXT mission.

Danny was very well aware of the fact that his jaw was currently seated on his chest.

He was also very well aware of the fact that Rachel's perfectly plucked eyebrow was arched in what she would term 'a most unbecoming manner.'

And, Detective Daniel Williams was equally aware of the fact that his partner was already sitting in the driver's seat of the Camaro, with the engine already purring.

What he wasn't altogether aware of here, was what had just happened.

Well, he wasn't an imbecile; he knew precisely what had happened.

Sort of.

The case had been going badly.

Danny had been giving Steve more shit than usual, and he was well aware of that, because he was a totally self-aware guy, okay?

As always, there were _reasons_ Danny was giving shit, and _reasons_ for him giving Steve even _more_ shit today.

Thanks for asking, yes, because Danny is perfectly _happy_ to tell you of those extra reasons today.

Because Steve had, and not just once. Not even twice. Not even three times. But _four_ times..._four times_ over the course of trying to get a solid lead on their case today, Steve had completely and totally ditched him.

As in, taken off in Danny`s car. Alone. On his own. Leaving Danny...oh, you want the list of places Danny got left today? Sure, okay, that can be done.

The first time: Danny got left at HQ. Not really too big a deal except Steve conveniently forgot to mention to his partner that a) he was leaving, and b) he was using Danny's vehicle to do so.

The second time: Danny got left at Honolulu International Airport. Also not necessarily altogether a very bad thing, because of course there are tons of cabs and being from Jersey, Danny can hail a cab with the best of them. No, it was a big deal _only because_ Steve had left Danny talking with a flight attendant at the gate of a flight that was nearly ready to depart. And Steve, once again, conveniently forgot to mention to his partner that a) he was leaving, and b) he was using Danny's vehicle to do so.

The third time: Danny got left at the La Mariana Sailing Club. That was a little bit bigger of a deal, because there wasn't anyone there who looked at all interested in giving a cop a ride back to HQ because a) his partner had forgotten to tell him he was leaving, and b) his partner had used Danny's vehicle to do so.

Yeah.

So by the time Steve finally came back to get him an hour later, Danny was, quite _understandably_, royally pissed off.

And now here they were at the fourth time. The fourth time in which, as Danny heard the wheels of his vehicle peal out of the driveway, Steven J. McGarrett left him without telling him, and used Danny's vehicle to do so.

But the shit of it was, he couldn't bring himself to find any anger within his mind or vaulting from his mouth like little tiny Olympic champions because this right here? This was simply too good to be true.

Rachel and Grace weren't in New Jersey anymore.

They were here.

They were right here standing in front of him in the same house they'd lived in with Stan, and...Stan was standing right behind them.

And Grace was squealing and had her arms wrapped around Danny's neck.

And Stan's arm was coming around Rachel's waist.

And Rachel was telling him, right there in front of Stan, and right there in front of Grace, that a) it had all been a mistake. That b) she wasn't pregnant. That c) she and Stan were not getting a divorce. That d) she had seen the light.

And e) that the reason all of those things had come to pass, except for b, since really, he couldn't have done anything about that directly himself, but e) the reason all of those things had come to pass was because his partner had left him four times that day. In Danny's car.

Steve had ditched him.

And now Rachel and Grace were back. And they were staying.

And that meant Danny was staying.

And _that_ meant Danny had been right about Steve all along. He was the most insane person Danny had ever known.

And he couldn't have loved him more. Except Steve never stayed around long enough to be told that.

Now part of him was worried. Because Steve had just left him.

Again.

At Step-Stan's.

Without a word.

In Danny's vehicle.

Oh, God.


	4. Reasons 7 and 8

**Reason 7**

They aren't shopping for a duvet cover, and they only help pick out polish only if it's for their weapon. Ironically, long fingernails can be among their weapons. Go figure.

He hears an _Oooof!_ Figures it had to be from the bad-guy-of-the-week simply because even grunts and whooshes of air sound different coming from a Russian national.

Danny hates dark abandoned buildings. He really hates that a place like Oahu even _has_ dark abandoned buildings, because really? Just...in the land of sunshine and pineapples. Yeah, serious non sequitur.

Of course, it doesn't help that it's nearly midnight, and then yep, right there, another _Oooof!_

Thing is, Danny's got no problems on the I'm-a-damn-good-cop front, not anymore. He knows he'd once told Steve that he likes to be reminded that he's good at what he does, and he _does_. The one thing that reminds him of that more than anything else, is Steve himself.

Danny ducks forward, peering around a corner. Coast is clear. Gun held out in front of him, he creeps down the hall. Two down courtesy of his partner, that meant three more to go. No problem.

_POP! POP!_

Two rounds, two more guys down. He's even on the body count. Danny smirks. Now it's a competition. Who'll take the last guy down, Steve or Danny?

He's aware on some level that the mere acknowledgment of the fact that this sort of thing has become a game to them should really, really bother him. Only he can't seem to make it, because either way, he gets a shit-eating grin out of Steve. Depending on which of them kicks the last guy's ass, he'll get either the _Yes, I'm still a bad-ass mother fucker_ look, or the _That's _my _partner _look.

Danny likes them both, even though the latter's the better of the two since it's accompanied with the sort of pride Danny's used to seeing in his own face at Grace's piano recitals. Whichever he gets, it's a win all the way around. Another jackass off the streets of Hawaii so Gracie and all Hawaiians are safe; satisfaction that they're _both_ good at what they do; and the grin...the reminder that _Steve_ thinks so, too.

Yeah, round the corner, gun leveled, but the room's empty. Until he feels nails dig into the flesh of his arm, and in spite of the near-darkness, a glance down makes his breath hitch in his throat. And then he can't hold it in and outright laughs his ass off.

"Shut up!" Steve hisses, letting go of Danny's arm. "I thought you were the guy."

"I _am_ the guy," Danny says, "just not the one you were looking for."

Okay, so Danny's wiping tear tracks from his cheek, but then he registers pain and looks down at his arm to find two tiny lines of red seeping through the sleeves of his dress shirt as Steve says, "Says who?" - only Danny can't remember what he said to prompt those two words.

"Really, Steve? You had to _gouge_ my flesh with your _fingernails_?"

He can feel Steve's scowl as the two of them wait on either side of the room's doorway, guns raised. "It's not my fault your daughter talked me into polishing my nails with Sally Hansen Nail Strengthener!" he whispers fiercely.

Danny chuckles quietly. He hears a noise not too far away, and he knows their plan is working. "Well, after you spent thirty minutes helping her decide between the pink and purple duvet or the one with those kids from _Shake It Up!_, I think she figured she owed you."

Steve's huff makes Danny smirk as one black-shoed foot peeks its way through the door. Steve darts out and head-butts the unsuspecting felon. Danny moves in, using his right leg to sweep the guy off his feet. Good. Now he'd have a headache _and_ his tailbone would be bruised.

"Think of it this way," Danny says, holstering his weapon as Steve does the same...and as the bad guy tries to crawl away from them. "Now you have a new weapon to add to your arsenal."

"New weapon?" Steve asks, cocking his head as Danny purposely falls hard onto the suspect's back, knee digging into his spine. Quick movements, _snick, thwap, snap_ and the guy's wrists are cuffed behind his back.

"Yeah, Super SEAL," Danny says, levering himself up and yanking the bad guy with him. "Strengthened fingernails, courtesy of my clever daughter."

"You know," Steve says thoughtfully as they make their way down the hall, each of them alternately shoving the suspect ahead of them if he dares to slow down, "come to think of it-"

"And you will _not_ tell my daughter about that new fact, thank you very much," Danny interrupts.

"On one condition, Danno."

He raises an eyebrow as they draw nearer the building's rear exit. "That would be?"

"That you never tell _anyone_ I helped Grace pick out a fucking _duvet_."

Now Danny's laughing all over again. That's a promise he absolutely _refuses_ to make.

* * *

><p><strong>Reason 8<strong>

They know that more important than the size of their weapon is how they use it. But they still like to carry big-ass weapons.

He's never seen anything like it.

It's big.

No...gigantic.

Who's he kidding? It's fucking _huge_.

He swallows hard as long fingers wrap around the hilt of the KA-BAR. He's absolutely _certain_ he's never seen a knife that big, not even in his partner's hand.

Which is exactly where this one is.

And it's coming toward him.

Danny swallows again, eyes going wide. But he can't ask what Steve's doing because there are a couple pieces of duct tape preventing any sound except the grunt-snort he hears from his own nose.

That's when Danny sees his captor appear right behind Steve, fire ax raised high in the air. Danny jerks his head, his partner understands, and in a heartbeat a small Stinger Combat Dagger is unsheathed from the inside of Steve's forearm. Steve pivots and throws and the knife hits the spot right over his would-be murderer's heart.

The guy's face registers shock. The ax falls to the floor. The man's dead before he even hits.

Now Steve's turned and is walking toward him again, all business.

The KA-BAR and the hand holding it move quickly around to the back of the chair and without so much as a whisper, Danny's tied hands are free. The duct tape is ripped quickly from his stubble, and he thinks now he knows what Rachel endures getting her legs waxed.

Now the KA-BAR has sliced through the ropes at his ankles, and just like that, Danny's been rescued. He rubs his wrists and looks down at his still-crouching partner, face covered in black and green camo paint, a satisfied look in his eyes.

Danny has all sorts of questions, not the least of which was why use the biggest knife Steve probably owns...if you don't count the sword that goes with his Navy uniform as an even bigger form of one, that is...to free Danny rather than using it against the guy who'd kidnapped him to begin with.

Steve cocks his head and looks down at the KA-BAR. Danny wonders if Steve can suddenly read his mind, because as he sheaths the KA-BAR and rises to his feet, holding a hand out to help Danny up, Steve says, "It's not the size, Danno." Steve turns and funny enough, hasn't quite let go of Danny's hand. "It's how you use it."

Okay, that was just _lame_, Danny's brain supplies. He yanks his hand out of McGarrett's grip and shakes it like he's sure Steve must've broken every bone in it with his feather-light touch. "And you think it's always absolutely necessary," he grouses, "to use the largest weapon on your person at any given time, on me."

Somehow, Danny thinks, SEALs lose every bit of their scariness, even through camo face paint, when the face in question sports a sloppy, happy grin akin to that of a faithful Labrador Retriever. And then Steve just puts every I'm-trying-to-look-like-a-badass SEAL on Earth to shame when he waggles his eyebrows and says, "Don't I always, Danno?"

There's just no comeback for that one.


	5. Reasons 9 and 10

**Reason 9**

They want to get the job right the first time, but they're not afraid of an occasional "double tap."

Danny's eyes narrowed as they lit on the one thing he'd done right that week. It took all of half a second for his ire to rise far beyond nominal levels. He turned and huffed out of the kitchen, stomping to the lanai where his partner had just put his clean, dry towel on the back of a nearby chair in preparation for an evening swim after a particularly crap-ass day.

"Steven. J. McGarrett."

He felt good about the fact Steve's body went deathly still at that. Danny marched around his tree trunk of a friend, partner, or whatever the hell it was Steve thought they were on this particular day, hands on his hips and holy shit, did he not feel like his mother right about now with that stance.

"I told you, that apple pie born of my own grandmother's recipe, may she rest in peace, is off _limits_ until it's used for dessert at your goddamn _barbecue_ tomorrow!"

That was enough words for the time being. Because now Danny had to go in and spend the evening determining whether the damn pie could be salvaged with a McGarrett-sized finger hole near the edge of the crust. He half-wondered, as he slammed his fist on the counter, and yes he was overreacting but he'd already _said_ it was a shitty week, okay? He half-wondered if Steve hadn't found some way to suck the entirety of his beautiful apple pie's innards out through that pinky-sized hole, but when he picked the pie plate up, he knew it was too heavy to be empty.

Unless Steve _had_ sucked the innards out, and then decided to replace them with something of equal weight a la Indiana Jones.

Nah. Not even Steve would stoop that low.

Danny's brow furrowed. Maybe Steve just _would_.Danny just couldn't leave this one to chance. He'd _have_ to make another one. Which meant a trip to the grocery store and the prayer that they'd have halfway decent apples on-hand since the produce market featuring Hawaii's best everything fresh was already closed at eight o'clock at night.

He knew he shouldn't begrudge Steve being only sixteen years old emotionally, after what had happened to him at that age, but fuck, why was _everything_ having to do with Steve so much _work_? Thrusting his phone into his right pocket, Danny grabbed his keys from where McGarrett had chucked them on the table earlier and stalked out the front door.

See if he'd ever agree to making Steve an apple pie again.

* * *

><p>Steve scooted into the kitchen. He kind of felt bad for Danny feeling like he couldn't just repair the crust on this beautiful pie that smelled like his own mother used to make. Steve hadn't <em>meant<em> to ruin it, and he hadn't thought the tiny hole he'd made near the edge of the crust was altogether _that_ noticeable. Hell, Steve could've just taken that piece for himself tomorrow and the rest of Five-O wouldn't have been the wiser.

But Danny was a perfectionist, this Steve knew. And really, he hadn't gotten all that good of a taste earlier while Danny had been in the bathroom and he'd sneaked in here to check out the golden flaky crust and the five little knife-marks around the broken-open center.

Steve sighed. The pie was calling his name. It was something in his gut, something that made him feel safe and loved by his mother before she'd been murdered. Danny always got under Steve's skin in ways Steve couldn't possibly explain using words, but this? This had been the one thing he simply couldn't ignore, to the point where he'd left physical evidence of the effect the pie had had on him.

Honestly. A pie.

Really?

Yep.

Steve reached out with his index finger, broke through the crust, and scooped up a nice slice of apple and gooey sweet filling and broken pieces of the hand-made melt-in-your-mouth pastry and popped it into his mouth. He closed his eyes and let warm memories wash over him as he savored the taste, rolling it around on his tongue, remembering how he'd always helped his mom with the grunt work of peeling and slicing and rolling the dough.

He just about jumped out of his skin when a soft voice said, "You're helping me peel these, McGarrett. That's your punishment for double-dipping."

Steve heard Danny's understanding voice, saw his own dark-haired mother in his mind's eye, and smiled. He turned to look at his partner, startled to find Danny was standing so close. Steve hoped his eyes were saying 'thanks' enough.

* * *

><p><strong>Reason 10<strong>

They hold their breath so they can go down without surfacing for a REALLY long time…but they'd prefer not to.

He couldn't have survived. There was no way on Earth that even Steve could have survived being below the surface of the Pacific for so long. Danny was so sure of Steve when he'd told him not to worry, not to be afraid, not to think he, the Navy man, the leader of Five-O, could ever die. Steve had told him all that and more with only a five-second look before he rushed the bad guy holding them at gunpoint and went sailing over the edge of the roof into the turbulent surf below.

It had been seven minutes. Joss Palin's body had surfaced, neck broken. That meant Steve had survived the fall into the water long enough to do that damage. But HPD was here, and Chin and Kono and Danny had searched everywhere with boats and shouts and eyes now so bleary from scanning sun-kissed blue waves and white foam there were nothing but spots left in Danny's vision.

And then there was a wet slap. Another followed. Danny turned slowly. There was a large rock jutting out ten feet from the craggy shore. Shadows beneath hid even the swirling of the water that couldn't go anywhere each time a wave came in. But in those shadows, another less natural movement caught his eye through the grayed-out sunspots clouding his line of sight.

With a surefootedness he hadn't known he possessed, Danny got down the slippery, jagged rocks far enough that he could jump feet-first into the waist-deep water below. He struggled through waves that felt like concrete walls slamming into his head and shoulders and arm, pushing and pushing until he got to the outcropping of rock. Until a hand grabbed his. Danny would know that hand anywhere.

Danny pulled. All of Steve popped out from under the rock with the next wave, the combined force of the water and the weight of Steve himself knocking Danny's back into the sheer rock behind him. Steve was gasping for breath and paler than he'd ever seen him look, but he was alive. He grabbed his partner in a fierce hug, not quite able to believe Steve had made it.

"I thought you couldn't stay down more than five minutes," he finally panted into Steve's ear.

"Never said I couldn't," Steve spluttered as a wave covered them to their necks. "Just that we don't like to." Then he winced in pain. Blood surrounded them in the water from somewhere Danny couldn't see, and Steve grimaced. "Only a scratch."

"Next time," Danny said, "just let me shoot the bastard."

Steve smiled tiredly as he leaned his forehead on Danny's shoulder. "You're on, partner."


	6. Reasons 11 and 12

**Reason 11**

They are good with their hands.

"Oh. My. God."

Steve looked up.

"What. The hell. Are you doing?"

"What's it look like I'm doing?"

"It _looks_ like you entered my apartment while I was gone taking Grace back to Rachel."

"Astute observation."

"It _looks_ like you are sitting on my couch with one of my shirts in your hands."

"Mmhmm."

"It looks like you're holding a needle."

"I am. And a threaded one, at that."

Steve looked back down, pushed the needle through the fabric and pulled it out the other side until the white thread was taut.

"I repeat, Steven. What. The hell. Are you doing?"

"Sewing your button back on, Danny, what's it look like?"

Danny facepalmed, his hand then running its way down to the stubble on his chin. "_Why_?"

Steve looked at him with all the innocence of Danny's very own daughter. And wasn't that just downright disturbing?

"Because I'm the one who got it torn off."

"I don't even know how to…you are so…it's okay to break into my apartment to apologize, he thinks…oh, my God, how can I even attempt to argue with something you find so simplistically logical but makes no sense to normal people?"

Danny headed into the kitchen with several waves of his hands and a continuously shaking head.

"I thought you'd be happy that I not only realized I'd caused damage to one of your work shirts, but wanted to fix it as an apology."

"Oh, I _am_ happy, trust me," Danny replied, bringing two beers out and handing one to his partner. "I just…it never ceases to amaze me how hands that can snap a guy's neck or put a knife through a guy's heart can also thread a needle and sew a button back on. Or even _would_, for that matter."

"What can I say," Steve said with a shrug as he put the shirt down long enough to grab the beer he was offered. "I'm good with my hands."

"Maybe you've learned something from me after all," Danny stated introspectively.

That got a pointed look from Steve. "I was good with my hands long before I met you. You take things that can be done with hands to a whole new level, Danny. That, I don't want to imitate."

Danny harrumphed, a grin hidden behind the opening of his bottle of beer. And he spent the next thirty minutes watching Steve apologize for getting the button ripped off Danny's favorite dress shirt. In his own slightly bizarre, uniquely Steve and totally endearing way.

**Reason 12**

They've been in many engagements, and they always end quickly…so don't bother.

"I've finally figured it out."

Steve gets that frown on his face, the one that's only just deep enough to put that little line right between his eyebrows. When Steve opens his mouth to attempt some type of speech, Danny holds his hand up and Steve wisely decides to remain silent.

"Okay," Danny says with all the patience of a Kindergarten teacher, "Steven." He's got Steve looking right at him. Good. "I have noticed a pattern where you're concerned."

"Pattern."

"Yes, a pattern. I've noticed that you're not exactly predisposed to, shall we say, prolonged engagements." Danny has to suppress a laugh at the next look on Steve's face which somewhat resembles Say-What-Now? Face. "I'm talking about long-term commitment, Steven."

"To what? Nearly two decades in the Navy isn't enough commitment?"

"Ah, the only reason you stuck with the Navy for so long is because underneath its grandiose umbrella you've been able to bounce through a series of short engagements."

"I _have_ never, nor _will_ I ever, _bounce_."

Danny tries really hard not to laugh again.

"Okay, I'll grant you that. You don't bounce. But you're focusing on the wrong part of this. See, if you had to sit at a desk in Naval Intelligence, for example, just listening in on wiretaps, or doing the kind of grunt work poor Jenna was doing at the CIA before she looked you up, you would have quit the Navy so fast they wouldn't have known what hit them."

Steve graced him with Thoughtful Look #2, which always made his eyes somehow seem to be looking inward, like he was scanning his own innards. Weird, that one.

"Okay, Danny, I'll give you that. You're right. If I hadn't been in the field, that wouldn't have lasted long."

"Ah, see? And then of course you became a SEAL because it meant quick in-and-out missions, where you didn't have to do something like a three-year undercover job and stay in one place for too long."

"Yeah, yeah, okay, so what's your point exactly?"

"My _point_, is that I've figured out _exactly_ what your problem is here."

"Here where?"

"_Here_!" Danny said, indicating himself, Steve, the Five-O bullpen and the island of Oahu as well as the State of Hawaii with some marvelously arcing, circular gestures. "With Five-O, I mean."

Steve pinched the bridge of his nose, then rubbed thumb and forefinger into his eyes before letting the palm of his hand flow down his face. When at last his hand had dropped to his side, he spoke. "I haven't slept in 36 hours. The point, _please_, Danny."

"The point is that you don't purposely and with malice aforethought ignore reading suspects their Miranda rights, or forego the appropriate, approved and legal methods for interrogation, any more than you throw yourself directly into the line of fire because you have a death wish."

"I don't have a death wish."

"That's what I just said!" Danny threw his hands up in exasperation. "Always focusing on the wrong things!"

Steve sighed, forcing himself to stay awake long enough to (hopefully soon) hear the end of this.

"You don't do all these things that piss me off…just to piss me off. Or because of some hero complex. Or because you think you're better than anyone else."

"Well, at least you've got that part right, finally."

"That's right, I do. You do these things because the idea of walking around here acting like a normal cop gives you hives."

"Hives?"

"Hives."

"Well, maybe not literally."

Danny grinned. "See? I have figured you out. You cannot deal with long-term engagements. You like quick in-and-out. You are the same way in your personal life, you know." When Steve gave him Confused Look #5, Danny added, "Lieutenant Rollins?"

Steve made a face. "I don't know if that theory is entirely true," he said, holding his hand up in the air. Danny dug in his pocket and tossed Steve his car keys, then shut down the big central computer for the weekend (with any luck).

"Where's the flaw in my theory?"

Steve grabbed the door and pulled it open, flashing a smile as his partner walked out of the bullpen. "_You_ are the flaw in your theory, Danny."

Danny thought about that all the way out to the car. "_I'm_ the flaw?" he finally asked as he and Steve buckled themselves into the front bucket seats.

"Yes. Because you've been my partner for nearly a year now."

Steve started the Camaro's engine.

Danny looked at him. "You're settling down in your middle age?"

"I'm not middle-aged! We're only thirty-four!"

"We're almost thirty-five."

"That is _not_ middle-aged."

"No, I suppose not." Danny leaned across the center of the car just as Steve was backing out of the parking spot. He elbowed Steve's arm. "So it's just me, right? I'm the one thing you just can't leave behind, aren't I? No matter how bored you get?"

Steve arched an eyebrow. "Danny, you are many things. Boring is _not_ one of them."


	7. Reasons 13 and 14

**Reason 13**

They might show up at the rendezvous point with lots of wingmen, but only one guy's getting the job done. No bickering.

"There is no _freaking_ way."

Danny peered into the distance, eyes straining to see beyond the whitecaps of the choppy Pacific. Not five hundred yards from the end of the dock he was nearly falling off of trying to get as close to the water as he could without going for a swim, there was Steve slicing through the water with powerful strokes and a kick that made him pretty damn fast.

Not as fast as the rest of the mammals he was with, though.

They parted, splitting just enough to allow for this human invader to their world, then coming back together like it had been a planned military maneuver. Gray fins broke the surface, and every now and then a blowhole exhaled with a spray of water, then inhaled before the gray skin disappeared beneath the surface.

Danny thought he'd seen everything, but this? This took the cake. Steve was swimming, all right…having dived off the boat he and Chin had been searching for evidence to arrest a local drug runner…but he wasn't swimming alone.

The suspect was on what appeared to be a not-very-fast dive boat trying to make his getaway. Danny could see, through the binoculars he'd been using to monitor Steve and Chin's progress on the boat two rows over, Steve doing quick measurements and calculations in his mind before he came to the same conclusion Danny had by instinct alone: as fast as Steve was in the water, he'd overtake the dive boat, no problem.

Neither of them, however, had counted on Steve getting help from bottlenose dolphins.

Only _Steve_. It was so ridiculously unheard of, that _only Steve_ would have it happen. Danny lifted the nocs to his eyes, watching in fascination and disbelief as the dolphins reached the dive boat, circled it, and dared the guy at the wheel to run them over. And sonofabitch if it didn't work. The guy slowed just enough for Steve to make his stealthy approach from the side without Mr. Drug Runner having a clue he was even there.

_Dolphins_, Danny noted to himself, _the best distraction in the world._

He could hear their squeaks and squawks, their trills and what almost sounded like laughter, as they sailed through the air and kept the guy's attention on themselves while Steve reached the boat, and tried to get his hands up the white hull to the top of its edge. Danny cursed silently, because there was no way Steve was tall enough while treading water.

And that's when he decided to just throw in the sane-towel. Because two of the dolphins came racing toward McGarrett, each catching one side of him at full-speed, and launched him into the air just enough that his hands caught the side of the boat. Steve was up and over before the drug runner even knew he was there, and in short order the takedown was complete. The dolphins chirped happily all around, and Danny wondered if he'd just gotten punked or something.

His cell phone rang. He didn't recognize the number, but saw Steve had a cell phone to his ear and guessed it must be the drug runner's. He answered it. "What the actual _fuck_ did they _teach_ you in SEAL school, huh? How to hypnotize the most intelligent and non-violent mammals on the planet into helping you with your hare-brained schemes?"

When Steve replied, Danny could tell he was just as surprised as he was. "Halua is saying they helped me to get revenge on him."

"Revenge? Dolphins know revenge?"

"I don't know, Danny. Maybe."

"Well, what did Halua do to warrant it?" And the fact that Danny was even asking meant his mind was further gone down Crazy Road than he would've liked to believe.

"He said he killed a dolphin yesterday with his speed boat. Ran right over it."

"No wonder they're pissed. Must be the victim's family," Danny said thoughtfully and realized he was talking not about people, but about _dolphins_. "I give up."

"Danno?"

"I just give up. There is no way I can write a report saying out a bunch of dolphins helped capture our suspect. Dolphin wingmen, and shit."

"Won't have to, Danny," Steve said, and Danny lifted the nocs to his eyes once more. "Just say I did it all myself."

"What, and contribute to your already extraordinarily large ego?" Danny snorted. "Yeah, right."

"Well, you can always tell them my ego got a family of dolphins to help me take down the bad guy."

Danny closed his eyes. There was no way he was going to win this. He almost dropped his phone when a loud squeak made him jump. He looked down to find two dolphins floating with their heads and flippers above water. One of the dolphins splashed water at him with its nose. Danny scowled, lifting his cell phone to his ear again.

"…looks like they want you to come in and play."

"You put them up to this."

"Danny, how could I? I don't speak dolphin!"

"You spoke it well enough to get them to help you!"

"Animal instinct. Listen, I'm bringing the dive boat back to the dock you're standing on, so you might want to back up a bit."

Before Danny could even think about what Steve had said, something jumped up right in front of him. He had just enough time to register it was a dolphin before losing his footing and tumbling head-first into the ocean.

When he surfaced, the first thing he heard was Steve's laughter. He spluttered and squinted into the sun, only to find Steve leaning over the boat railing chuckling merrily.

"I am _not_ amused by the antics of your _friends_, Steven."

"All them, brother. All them."

"Sure it was," Danny groused as Steve jumped in feet-first to join him.

The dolphins swam around and between them, and Danny begrudgingly admitted out loud that it was pretty damn cool, and won't Grace be sorry she missed this when Danny tells her the SEAL and Dolphin Team story.

"Well at least this proved one thing," Steve said as Chin and Kono boarded the dive boat to arrest the drug runner (after casting strange looks their way as they treaded water off the end of the dock).

"What's that?" Danny asked as one of the dolphins thwacked his back softly with its tail.

"You really _can_ swim."

"I hate you," Danny said, giving Steve what he was sure was his best death glare, however little impact it seemed to be having. "I hate you _so_ much."

**Reason 14**

There's lots of high-fives when its over, but bragging is for douchebags.

Steve narrowed his eyes as his quarry's feet appeared. No shoes or socks. Hope rose. Then shins. Bare shins. Hairy legs. Thighs. Bare to halfway up and then?

Steve barely held in his _Hooyah _of triumph. Waistband, stomach, chest, hands, arms, neck. Scowly face. Check, check and then some. Yep.

He couldn't believe it. Not only had Danny put on a pair of swim trunks, he'd put them on while at Steve's house. This was a major breakthrough, and Steve was trying desperately to contort his face into something that less resembled what Danny called Ridiculously Ecstatic Face, because to gloat now would be to incur Danny's wrath for the foreseeable future. No, he had to play this right. If for no other reason than—

There was a tug on his cargo pants. Steve looked down to find Grace standing there in her pink and white bathing suit with her hand raised in the air. She winked at him, and he grinned, giving her the high-five she was asking for.

Danny might've been a loud mainlander who swore on stacks of Bibles there were certain things he wouldn't do, but with his own daughter _and_ his partner in cahoots, Steve was sure they'd have Danny worn down to finally accepting where he was living in no time.

And if Danny ever found out how it was this shit kept happening, Steve knew he would _pay_.

He couldn't keep the smile from his face as he met Danny near the lanai doors. "I'm going to guess this means you'd like to help Grace and I find seashells in the shallows," he said as nonchalantly as he could manage.

Danny only grunted in reply. Steve's smile broadened as Grace grabbed his hand and tugged him outside, then reached back and took her father's hand, pulling him along as well. Danny glared at him, but didn't really seem all that pissed off.

Steve would take what he could get.


	8. Reasons 15 and 16

**Reason 15**

Even on the darkest of nights they can find the tiniest of targets. No one's asking for directions.

Danny's eyes go wide.

He feels his pulse pick up in tandem with the beating of his heart. Pounding, more like.

Sweat breaks out on his upper lip and brow.

He swallows hard, nearly choking on the breath.

That's it. He knows it's finally happened, as his partner…with big eyes narrowed until nearly all you can see is lashes…with entire body tensed and coiled and ready to either pounce, spring, run or possibly kill (and isn't that the option that's got Danny wishing he kept an extra pair of boxers at McGarrett's?)…with mouth set in a line...with fingers twitching like he wishes he hadn't put his gun away. It's finally happened after all this time.

Steve McGarrett has snapped.

Flipped his lid.

Gone 'round the bend.

Flown over the cuckoo's nest.

Or whatever.

He's gone stark, raving mad. Insane. Crazy. Looney.

_Fuck_.

Danny makes as if to bolt but a quick chop-like movement from Steve holds him in place as though tied…rooted…_glued_…to the spot. _Jesus Christ_, Danny thinks, _I'm just going to let him kill me._

He stops breathing. Steve is mere inches away. The lights aren't on, so most of the crazy triggering the fight-or-flight response is in Danny's head, but still. When the move comes, when Steve's right hand and arm dart out and back, it's so quick that Danny isn't sure it happened at all.

But at least he starts breathing again.

"What the ever-loving-?" he sputters, hand over his heart, sure this is the heart attack he's been threatening Steve with all these years.

Steve no longer looks at all threatening. In fact, he looks relaxed like maybe he's just come from a swim (which he hasn't), or from taking a desperately-needed leak (which he didn't) or like he's just found out Danny didn't die in some hail of bullets he caused (which, to wit, Danny hasn't. Yet.).

"Black widow," Steve says as if this will explain the entire I'm-the-predator-and-you're-my-next-meal routine that just shaved twenty years from Danny's life.

Then Steve moves again, plopping down on the couch next to Danny, and holds out his right hand palm-up. Danny chances a look down as he wipes the sweat from his upper lip, then rubs his hand over his mouth until he winds up scratching a bit at the stubble on his chin. He can see clear as day the black long-legged spider in the palm of Steve's hand, with the garish red hourglass on its belly.

The thing is dead.

"It was on your shoulder," Steve says, and very proudly, if Danny does say so himself.

"You came at me like I was a bomb that needed diffusing!" Danny protests, but at least his voice isn't shaking, and that's noteworthy under the circumstances.

Steve shrugs. "Technically, if it had bitten your neck, it might've become a bomb. To your system, at least. I didn't want you moving or freaking out if I said, 'Hey, Danno, you've got a Black Widow on your shoulder.'"

Now, this, Danny can appreciate, because truth be told, he probably _would've_ freaked out…just a little, mind you…if he'd heard those words out of his partner's mouth.

"And how did you _not_ get bitten?" he asks, thoroughly annoyed that it seems like Steve can do _any_thing and Christ, now he owes him again.

"I've killed tarantulas in the wild with less fuss," Steve says with another shrug. And really, all things considered, Danny's glad he didn't get bit.

But maybe, in the near future, he'll have to work out some sort of code with McGarrett for I'm-not-going-to-tell-you-precisely-what-it-is-that's-about-to-kill-you-or-you'll-do-something-we'll-both-regret-but-don't-worry-'cause-I-got-ya.

When Steve flings the now-dead spider into the trash bin in the kitchen, Danny makes him tie up the bag and haul it outside with all due haste.

And he really doesn't want to know how Steve kills tarantulas with his bare hands, thankyouverymuch.

* * *

><p><strong>Reason 16<strong>

Shooting blanks is for weekend warriors, and training keeps their weapons from accidentally going off early. It does NOT "happen to all guys."

"Let me get this straight," Danny says with a wave of his hands. "You're telling me that you used _live rounds_ in Versus-type maneuvers in the middle of a jungle and no one got killed?"

"That's right," Steve replies, and no, he can't keep the smug out of his voice because yes, he really is that awesome. "We're all trained to do that."

Danny frowns. Man, back in Jersey you didn't have live rounds until you were ready to walk out the door in the morning with your weapon.

"Shooting blanks is for weekend warriors, Danny," Steve deadpans.

Danny has to laugh.

"Besides, that's what we're trained for. We have to be able to mimic real conflict so we're prepared to react to it." Steve looks at Danny for a moment or two. "See, the difference is, I was taught combat under deadly conditions. You weren't. None of HPD was. In fact, I'm not sure any police department trains the way SEALs are trained."

"Jesus, I hope not," Danny says softly with a shake of his head. "That'd be a million more McGarretts than this world is ready for."

Steve's laugh is rich and hearty. "Well, don't worry about it, Danno," Steve says, patting his partner right between his shoulder blades. "Even I get shot. Not ever by my own weapon, mind you."

Danny glares at the back of Steve's head. "I fucking _told_ you why I haven't cleaned my weapon in over eighty hours and it's because it's _your fault_! You, with your, let's hop from island to fucking hot island, Danny, come on, we'll get 'em for like, what, four days _straight_?"

Steve's gone long enough that Danny goes from angry to downright shitfaced thanks to the really…really…_really_ high doses of painkillers that're nearly as good as the morphine he had while hospitalized. Then Steve comes back.

"Cut me some slack, will you?" Danny asks. Okay, pleads. "It happens to all the guys."

"No," Steve shakes his head and plants himself firmly in Danny's line of sight. "It does _not _happen to 'all the guys.'"

This time when Steve sits down on the couch he pulls Danny's weapon from its holster, and Danny knows better than to complain. He watches as Steve moves to sit cross-legged on the floor at the coffee table, pull out gun oil and cleaning rags and probably ten other things for guns that Danny's never even heard of no matter that he's held a gun for many years on his own, thankyouverymuch.

Danny leans back and shifts his casted right foot on the coffee table a bit. "Thanks for not telling the EMTs what really happened, huh?"

As Steve begins disassembling Danny's weapon, he looks up briefly and smiles, but it doesn't reach his eyes. Danny watches carefully, because Steve's got his brow scrunched up like he's just seen the Ghost of Christmas Past right in front of his nose.

"I knew it," Steve finally whispers triumphantly, holding something up in his hand.

It takes Danny a sec to focus because really, _pain_killers, man. "The magazine?" he finally asks as the object solidifies into focus for three seconds before Danny's eyes cross.

"Yep. The mechanism's shot." Steve looks up at his partner. "No pun intended."

"Ha," is about the best Danny can manage.

"You fired it too much, Danno."

Okay, that deserves an effort. Danny pulls himself together as much as humanly possible and says haltingly, "You. Bullets. Bad Guys. Reckless. Fault."

He falls back onto the couch, quite prepared now to fully pass out, and thinks to himself, _That got the point across._ Everything's Steve's fault including, now, the fact that Danny's in a foot cast and boot for the next six weeks.

_Bastard._


	9. Reasons 17 and 18

**Reason 17**

As far as they are concerned, they were never there.

"_You!"_

Steve froze halfway to his office. He heard footsteps coming up fast behind him and bit his lip, then carefully schooled his face into a combination of 'Who, Me? Face' and 'How are you this fine Hawaiian morning, Danno? Face.' Then he turned and came face to…well, hair, really…with his partner.

Who was red-faced.

Whose hair was sticking up in every direction on the compass and some, Steve was quite certain, that weren't on _any_ compass. At least, not in _this_ universe.

And…who looked like he was about to kill Steve with his bare hands. Steve resisted the urge to snort. _Let him try_, he thought, and it was the last clear thought he had as Danny took a deep…really deep…_hey, he might've made a good SEAL_…breath.

"Do you…_you_…" Danny emphasized that one with a jab of his finger right into Steve's sternum. Steve wisely chose not to repeat the whole arm-twisting and subsequent jaw-punching incident and instead stoically stood his ground in the face of Typhoon Williams.

"_Do_ you," Danny started again, "have _any_ small, even miniscule, clue, why I woke up this morning in my tiny little apartment on my tiny little and yes, admittedly very shitty, pull-out, this morning," he heaved and paused to take a breath.

Steve unwisely interjected, "Because that's where you choose to live?" Oops. Sometimes he wasn't such a Smooth Dog after all.

Was Danny turning _purple_?

"I—you—when the _hell_ did you manage to find the _time_ to sneak into my _apartment_ and get a whole, huge, entire, _Queen_ fucking-sized bed in there, and carry my _sofa bed_ out without me having a clue you were even in there during my _ten minute fucking shower_!"

Steve kept his face passive. At least, he hoped it was passive. He blinked once and didn't waver from Danny's really, massively pissed-off glare. "I don't have any idea what you're talking about."

"You don't—!" Danny's hands flew into the air, then pulled on his hair, then smoothed it back down as he paced toward the double doors and stopped in mid-step when he saw Chin coming down the hall.

Steve suppressed the very real need to smirk.

Danny whirled on him and stalked right up into his personal space. He looked like he was about to poke Steve in the chest again, but seemed to think better of the idea…_thank you for small favors because he'd _really_ get mad if I twisted him to the ground again_…and just stuffed his hands in his pockets.

"I know it was you," he seethed quietly as Chin entered the bullpen. "Don't even try to deny it. Nobody else would buy me a fucking _bed_!"

Unfortunately for Danny, but much to Steve's eternal amusement, Danny's voice wasn't even close to being quiet, and Chin overheard the whole thing. He stopped and turned to look at them, one eyebrow going straight up to his hairline.

"Danny," Steve said with the patience of a saint_…several of them, because you need at least three to cover Danno on a good day, and this right here was probably more of an eight-saint day_…as he placed a hand on his partner's shoulder, "I'm really glad you got a new bed, but there's no way I could've gotten a Queen bed into your apartment, and gotten rid of your sofa bed, and gotten it hauled away, and gotten the new bed unwrapped and made, in ten minutes. Even _I'm_ not _that_ good."

Chin's jaw dropped just slightly, then he smirked and headed for the huge computer table, making sure to look as busy as he could. Unobtrusively. Steve admired that about Chin. He was always there even when you had no idea he was there. _Come to think of it, he might've made a good SEAL himself_.

"I have _no _clue _how_ you did it, McGarrett, but I know you did. For _sure_."

"On what do you base that, or do I not want to know?"

"Unless and until you admit you were actually there, and that you're the one who went out and bought me a piece of _furniture_…a _bed_, no less…I will not tell you how it is I know that for sure." Danny seemed awfully cocksure as he strutted back to the little pantry for a morning cup of coffee.

Chin graced Steve with a very patient, but very 'yeah, you're not quite as smooth as you think, _brah_,' look.

"What'd I miss?" Steve asked. "How could he possibly know?"

Chin held up one hand and used the other to tick his reasoning off starting with his thumb.

"One," Chin began, "you are the only person Danny Williams knows, who would actually think buying him a bed and sneaking it into his apartment was an acceptable thing to do."

"Why wouldn't it be acceptable?"

"Two," Chin continued, ignoring the question, "you have a suspiciously _large_ and lumpy-looking tarp covering _something_ in the back of your truck, and while it's tied down very well, Steve, it's not exactly rocket science figuring out what it is."

Steve felt a bit silly. "I didn't think anyone would pay attention."

"Three? Three is that Danny never told you the bed had been made…you told _him_ that."

"Rookie mistake," Steve whispered.

Chin nodded. "Bigtime. Four, you have done nothing for the entire five months you've known him, but bust on his tiny little apartment and the piece of crap thing he sleeps on. Come on," Chin chided.

Steve scowled. Dammit. These people knew him too well. _You're slipping, McGarrett. You're going soft._ "And five?" he asked, not sure he wanted the answer, but knowing he needed to gather every bit of intel he could so in the future he would not make these kinds of mistakes.

"Five?"

Steve went very still. _That_ hadn't been Chin's voice. He waited until Danny came around to stand in front of him.

"Five, he wants to know. Okay, Steven. I'll tell you what reason number five is," Danny said, way too conversationally and calmly given his…_that really was very…_purple face from a few moments ago.

Steve swallowed hard. Could he have fucked up his op _that_ badly? Inconceivable! To quote Grace's favorite movie _Princess Bride_. Which Steve had found snort-worthy last weekend.

"Five, my friend," Danny said, "was me finding _this_," and here he brought something rather small out of his pocket and dangled it in front of Steve's face. Steve's face that just lost every bit of color, Hawaii tan included, as it drained clear down his legs and seeped out of his toes. "_This_," Danny re-emphasized, "in the middle of the bed."

Steve looked at the small object, then right back into Danny's eyes, and made himself as unreadable as possible. "What you're holding is the little horse from Grace's farm animal collection," Steve said. "What's that got to do with me?"

Oh, the look on Danny's face. He _knew_. Dammit. Oh, _dammit¸_ Steve was so screwed.

"Yep," Danny said, and _holy shit_ _can I wipe the smug off that mug?_ Steve wondered. "The last time I saw Grace's collection of farm animals in, say, the last two months, was last weekend over at _your_ house, McGarrett. So no, there's no way my daughter's toy could've wound up in the middle of my magically appearing brand-new Queen bed unless _you_," he said, waving the small plastic horse in Steve's face, "the one who _put _it there to begin with, stuck this thing in one of the way too many pockets you have in those cargo pants, unvelcro'd the pocket while you were moving the bed in, allowing the horse to fall _out_ of said pocket and onto the very nice handmade quilt which I would _imagine_ is something either your mother or your grandmother either made or owned unless you went and had it commissioned especially for me."

Steve jammed his fists in his pockets and felt the mother of all pouts coming on. _Well, Christ, I can't even do anything nice for him without him turning it into a pissing contest, and like the goddamn rat terrier he is, somehow he pisses enough for both of us and wins every time_.

"Ready to concede that you were there? That you were the one who did it?" Danny asked, eyes full of mirth.

Steve steeled himself, set his jaw and looked Danny in the eye. "I don't know what you're talking about, Danno," he said. "I was never there."

"Huh," Danny said, scratching the back of his neck and sharing a _whatever_ look with Chin. "Well, then, I guess since you weren't the one who did it, I won't be giving you the _other_ thing I found in my bed after you were never there."

Steve's eyes widened.

He was in _so_ much trouble.

* * *

><p><strong>Reason 18<strong>

Even their privates are born leaders.

"Oh, my _God_, you enlisted my only child."

"Come on, Danno, it's just for fun."

"Fun, Steven? Making my nine year-old daughter skulk around in the bushes surrounding Casa McGarrett until her hair's so tangled I'll have to give her a bowl cut to be able to get a brush through it?"

"I tied her hair back."

"Yeah. It fell out of that thing you so loosely referred to as a pony tail."

"Well, I had her clothed head-to-toe so the rest of her didn't get dirty."

"In camouflage. Little-girl-sized _pink_ camouflage."

"It's what she wanted."

"You are never taking my daughter shopping again."

"Pffft."

"Don't you pffft me, McGarrett. I have one word for you: facepaint."

"Actually that's two words, Danny. Face…paint."

"I don't care if it's one word or two, asshole, you don't put black and green paint on my daughter's flawless, perfect face, stuff her into pink camos and put her through boot camp!"

"Why not? She enjoyed herself."

"Oh, she enjoyed lying fully clothed at the water's edge, on her back, getting her hair so full of sand I could use her head as an SOS pad, getting soaking wet to her _underwear_?"

"Yep. She withstood the impact of the water well, and the ensuing discomfort it causes. Sometimes you just have to lie there and take it until you're in the clear."

"All right, Daddy!"

"Monkey! Your hair! How'd you get all those tangles out? I thought for sure I was going to have to cut it all off!"

"Noooo, Danno! You're just a little bit silly."

"I think you're right, Grace."

"Shut up, Steve. Seriously, Grace, how'd you get all those tangles and all that sand out?"

"Easy, I just stood in front of the mirror and ordered every single grain of sand off my head, and then ordered every individual hair to untangle itself because its mission was over."

"You are _so_ never spending the afternoon with her ever _ever_ again."

"Well, she's an awfully good recruit, it'd be a shame to lose Private Williams, U.S. Navy."

"I am _not_ quitting, Danno! I happen to be a good little frog girl and after I master Hell Week—"

"Oh, my _God_, you told her about _Hell_ Week?"

"Well, she's going through somewhat easier paces for her version than I did."

"There will be no Hell Week in Oahu except the one where I force you to read Miranda rights to every single suspect you commit hari cari on starting Monday and ending Friday, are we clear?"

"Dannnoooo!"

"No whining."

"Danno, I demand a word with my CO!"

"Your C—oh, for crying out loud."

"Gracie?"

"Shhh, wait 'til he's out of earshot."

"Okay, I think he is. What's up, sweetie?"

"Uncle Steve, we have to get Danno to see I was _born_ to be a SEAL!"

"I'm not sure we can do that. He doesn't respect _me_ very much for being one."

"He doesn't?"

"No. Just says I don't know the rules. Only he doesn't realize SEALs have a different set of them than New Jersey policemen."

"Hmmm. I think I have an idea, but you have to go along with it."

"Okay, Private Williams, lay it on me."

"Just play along, you'll see."

"Wait, I'm not sure…what've you got in mind?"

"Play along, here he comes!"

"All right, what dastardly plans have you made?"

"Oh, none, Danno. None at all. But I do want to tell you, before we leave to go back to Mommy's, that Uncle Steve just made me a promise."

"He did?"

"Oh, yes. Uncle Steve just promised me that he'd read all suspects their Miranda rights after booking all of them himself for the entire next week while you're working together."

"I—"

"You sure he made that promise, Grace? He looks a little like he wasn't aware of it."

"Oh, I'm sure, Danno. Didn't you, Uncle Steve?"

"Uh…I, uh…yeah. Yes. Yes, I sure did. You see, there, Danno, uh…well, your daughter, she set me straight, gave me 'the talk,' you know. She's a born leader, Danno. Even got a Lieutenant Commander to bend to her will."

"Hmph. Yeah, right. Those and the big, brown eyes, which I doubt any of your underlings had out in whatever desert your brain baked in. Grace, honey, go get your little bag packed up, okay?"

"Okay, Danno! Now, Uncle Steve, remember your promise!"

"I will, and thank you for the hug."

"You're welcome! See you next weekend! I'll bring my special journal with me so you can tell me all about how you kept your word next week and I'll write it all down and make a story from it. K?"

"Yeah, okay, Gracie. Next weekend it is!"

"I do _not_ believe you made her that promise."

"Born leader, Danno."

"You are going to keep every last bit of that promise, you know."

"She won't know."

"Ah, you underestimate Private Grace Williams, just as you underestimate her father. The kids a chip off the old block."

"Well, she's the best recruit I've ever had. And yeah…she _is_ a chip off the old block, Danno."


	10. Reasons 19 and 20

**Reason 19**

They can't be called afterward…in part, because the phone lines are cut.

"_Steve!_" Danny heard no response to his yell from the driveway.

An anonymous tip with HPD led to a call to Five-0 headquarters, where three-fourths of the team was already working on the Wo Fat case. Bomb threat.

Danny hadn't been worried about Steve not showing up for work at his usual crack-of-dawn time. He'd been out of jail for over a month now, good name restored, all charges dropped, and the new governor had put them on finding Wo Fat full-time.

Steve had been handling it well, but had phoned Danny while he was still at his apartment this morning with a towel wrapped around his waist, to tell him he was going to be about thirty minutes late because he "had something to take care of first."

So when Duke's voice told him, not forty-five minutes later, that HPD's Bomb Squad was on its way to the house of one Steven J. McGarrett to respond to a bomb threat, Danny and Kono and Chin had moved like their tails were on fire.

To the point where they made it first.

"You can't go in there!" Kono said. "What if it blows?"

"If Steve's in there," Danny replied, eyeing the silent and dark house warily, noting Steve's truck still parked in its usual spot, "then I'm getting him out."

"_Brah_," Chin started, but Danny waved a hand at him.

"_Brah_ me after," Danny said. "And if something happens to me, you tell my daughter that her daddy died trying to save Uncle Steve's life."

Kono gasped. Chin nodded and swallowed convulsively.

"And tell her Danno loves her," Danny finished quietly.

"Still not getting Steve's cell," Kono reported, shaking her head and looking like she wanted to throttle her cell phone. "It's going directly to voice mail."

"And when I try his landline, I don't hear it ringing," Chin said, frowning at his own phone. "We should be able to hear the ring out here."

Danny finished strapping on the armored vest he typically wore into gun battles. He knew it wouldn't do jack if one or more bombs went off around him, but there was no way in _hell_ he was leaving McGarrett to blow to pieces without even trying to find him.

Jaw set, resolve etched into his face, Danny took one look at Kono, whose eyes seemed suspiciously moist. He then looked at Chin, who whispered something in Hawaiian Danny didn't understand. He just nodded once at Chin for the sentiment, turned, and jogged to Steve's front door.

He didn't knock. They had no idea how the bomb might be rigged. Instead, he turned the handle, finding it unlocked, and slowly pushed the door open. He looked everywhere for triggers, tripwires, fuses. There was nothing.

It might be a soundwave bomb. He'd heard of them. Any loud noise could set it off, if it was. Maybe a little out of Wo Fat's league, but he'd put nothing beneath or above the asshole who set his partner up. So Danny didn't call out. His eyes searched the living room. He moved to the kitchen, the desk, covered the entire first floor.

His eyes darted everywhere, continuing to look for anything that could tell him where the bomb might be, or what might be the thing that would set it off. Just as he was about to go upstairs, his eye caught on something over near the corner of the living room. He frowned and moved toward it.

The phone line was unplugged from the wall. Danny frowned and tapped his earpiece, whispering so quietly he wondered if Chin and Kono could hear him. "Phone's unplugged. No sign of anything suspicious," he reported.

"Phone's unplugged?" Chin repeated in his ear.

"Affirmative," Danny whispered, pulling out his gun. He palmed it tightly and began his ascent to the second floor. The first thing he noticed was that all the bedroom doors were open except Steve's. There was nothing to indicate struggle or pressure plates or tripwires or anything else that would mean he couldn't move freely.

That didn't keep sweat from pouring down Danny's neck, pooling just below his shirt collar where the armored vest pressed it into the skin of his back. He forced himself to breathe slowly and evenly, though his heart was racing so fast he found himself hoping the sound of it wouldn't trigger the bomb, wherever it was.

Danny imagined that he'd open Steve's bedroom door, that the bomb would be in there with an unconscious Steve. That the act of pushing the door wider would set off the explosion. That the partners would die together, as maybe partners always should.

He stopped with his right hand on the doorknob, gun in his left. He could wait for the bomb squad. He _should_ wait for the bomb squad. They'd be able to tell if the door was rigged. They'd know and if it was, they'd diffuse the bomb and get Steve out safely.

Funny thing about that, though. And maybe it was just because Danny'd been hanging around a SEAL too long, but Danny didn't want to wait. He needed to know right _now_. It was stupid. It was reckless. It was 'one man goes in alone.' It was very Steve.

But Danny wasn't Steve. Danny had a little girl to live for. And getting himself and Steve killed would do nothing more than ensure Wo Fat won. Steve wouldn't want that, and neither did anyone else. He took his hand off the doorknob and backed up a step, tapping his earpiece again.

"Second floor's clear except Steve's bedroom door is shut."

"Evidence of triggers?" Chin asked.

"None visible," Danny reported. "ETA?"

"Squad's pulling in now, Danny. Let them do it. I'll send them in from McGarrett's bedroom window and up the steps to your location."

"Got it," Danny whispered, sliding his weapon back into its holster.

It was at that very moment that Danny was sure, for at least half a second, that he'd had a heart attack. Because the doorknob in front of him twisted, and the door was swung wide open. There before him stood his partner, eyes widened in surprise at finding Danny right there, hand holding a three-by-three cardboard box.

"Danny?"

"Steve, what the _hell_?"

"It's a bomb," Steve said, indicating the package in his hand. "It's activated by the ringing of a phone, the frequency of my landline and my cell phone programmed into it."

"Hence your cell phone being off."

"Hence?"

"And your landline being unplugged."

"Of course. I was just going to take it out back and detonate it."

"You were…Steven, that's why—" Danny turned and gestured to the fully geared-up Bomb Squad making their way up the steps, and then to the ones breaking into Steve's bedroom window. "—these men exist! They're trained for this shit, what the hell are you doing turning off your phones and trying to dispose of a fucking _bomb_ yourself?"

"I'm trained for this too, Danny," Steve said with a frown. The Bomb Squad leader held out his hands. Steve reluctantly handed him the brown box. The Squad moved downstairs, out onto the lanai and over to the water's edge before setting the package down carefully on the wet sand.

"How'd you know there was a bomb in here?" Steve asked, making his way downstairs because of course, he wanted to watch what the Squad was doing.

"Bomb threat called into HPD…Christ, you _asshole_, you could've called me first before turning off your phone, goddammit, McGarrett!"

"I couldn't risk it ringing, Danny. There was a text message—"

"You couldn't have just turned the ringers _off_?"

Steve's mouth opened, then closed, then he had the good grace to look sheepish.

"I will never understand you," Danny said, seething as he ripped his armored vest off and threw it to the hardwood floor. "You keep forgetting you're not alone. That you have a partner!" Danny marched right up to him and stuck his finger against Steve's chest the same as he had just after getting shot that first time. "And I was prepared to leave my baby _girl_ to try and get you out of here before you got blown to smithereens! You fucking _asshole_!"

Steve's eyes widened and his jaw dropped. "Jesus Christ, Danno, why the hell would you do that? You should never do that!"

"Because that, you moron, is what partners _do_ for each other! It's like a fucking marriage, have you _not_ figured this _out_ yet? Yes, Grace is the most important person in my life, and no, I don't want her growing up without me there. But how could I live with myself if I just cowarded back and let you die when I could've done something, huh? How could I look her in the face and tell her I kept myself alive for her, but let her Uncle Steve die? _Huh?_ _Fuck!_"

Chin and Kono appeared behind them. Not a single one of the four of them flinched when there was an explosion from the direction of Steve's beach, but the cousins quickly moved out there to make sure the Squad was okay.

"Danny, I never asked you to do something like that for me."

"I will never forgive you for this, McGarrett. You don't ask your partner to take a bullet for you. Anymore than your child asks you to give your life for them. It's _implied_, and if you haven't fucking figured that out by now, then why don't you just go back to being a SEAL, since that's all you seem to fucking understand anymore."

With that, Danny turned on heel, grabbing his vest from the floor where he'd dropped it, and stormed out the front door. He pulled his cell phone from his pocket and dialed Grace's school, asking that she be brought from class to the phone.

It took three minutes for her voice to fill his ears and he nearly wept with joy. He was so torn between his duty, his loyalty to a partner who didn't seem to share the sentiment, and to this beautiful creature whose concerned voice gave way to complete sweetness when she found out her Danno was okay.

But then she asked the question that made every bit of Danny's anger evaporate within nanoseconds.

"Danno?" she said, "What about Uncle Steve? Is he okay, too?"

The air whooshed out of Danny's lungs as he turned to find Steve walking slowly across the driveway toward him. Danny's hands shook as he whispered, "Yeah, Monkey. Uncle Steve's just fine."

"You kept him safe again, didn't you, Danno?"

Danny just stared at Steve as he took the last few steps toward his partner, hands stuffed into the pockets of his cargo pants, eyes cast downward. "I'm sorry," Steve whispered.

Closing his eyes for a moment, Danny smiled into the phone, imagining his arms were around Grace at that very moment. "Yeah, Grace. I guess I did."

"Thank you. I'd be really sad if anything happened to Uncle Steve."

Danny couldn't bring himself to look when Steve leveled his eyes at him. "I would too, Grace," he whispered.

"And you be safe with him, okay?"

"Okay, Monkey. I'll do my best." Danny swallowed hard. "Now you go back to class and I'll talk to you some more when I pick you up after school, okay?"

"Is Uncle Steve coming with you? I drew him a picture in Art class!"

Danny's eyes finally met Steve's. His grip tightened on the cell phone. "I think I can convince Uncle Steve to come with me, Monkey, yeah." Grace's squeal of delight forced Danny to hold the phone an inch from his ear as he said, "Danno loves you, baby."

The look on his partner's face as Danny ended the call told him that maybe Steve had finally gotten the message. Steve's words from so long ago now came back to echo inside Danny's head. _"Maybe you're not as alone around here as you think, Danno."_

Danny held his partner's gaze as he belatedly responded, "Maybe you're not either, McGarrett."

Steve seemed to understand.

* * *

><p><strong>Reason 20<strong>

Names are unnecessary to the mission.

"But who sent it?" Danny asked the courier standing at the door. "You have to have picked it up from somewhere."

"I did," the twenty-something Hawaiian man replied, looking very anxious to leave the doorway of Danny's apartment. "I was instructed to pick up this parcel," he continued, gesturing to the small box in Danny's hand, "from that corner right down there." He pointed down the street somewhat behind him and Danny peered along the length of his arm. "And then bring it to you. There was fifty bucks cash strapped to it for me."

Danny frowned. He looked at the neat writing on the package, which read, "Don't worry, it's not a bomb."

The courier turned and left, picking up his bike from where he'd dropped it in the driveway, and was off like a shot.

Danny looked at the box. He shook it a little as he closed his apartment door, locking it behind him automatically. "Ah, what the hell," he said, pulling a knife out of the kitchen drawer and slicing easily through the clear packing tape sealing the box.

He opened it all the way, carefully folding the four flaps back. What was inside took his breath away. He couldn't even begin to think who would give him something that had to cost so much money. Briefly he considered Rachel but no, she was back with Step-Stan now. And no matter how much hazard pay Steve had saved up over his years in the Navy, Danny couldn't see any reason at all why his partner would get him something like this, something that amounted, truth be told, to jewelry. His only other friends were Chin, Kono and Kamekona…and really?

No.

Danny lifted the object from the box. Sure, today was his birthday, and tomorrow was Steve's, and Five-0 was going out together for a huge celebration somewhere that Chin and Kono were keeping secret from the partners. And yes, Danny's watch had gotten crushed last week (thereby saving his wrist from being smashed) when the perp-of-the-week had tried to crush Danny's arm with the bucket of a front-end loader.

So somebody knew about that, and knew he needed a replacement. But this? _This_ expensive of a gift?

He took the watch out of its case. He knew it _had_ to be 14 karats of pure gold just from the way it gleamed and sure enough, it was a Rolex. When he turned it over, he saw something on the back of it and frowned, pulling it closer to his eyes. It was two engraved words.

_Aloha, Danny_

Who the _hell_ would send him a gift like this?

And why wouldn't they have just told him who they were?

* * *

><p>When Danny got to work that day, Chin said, "Good morning. Happy Birthday."<p>

Kono said, "Howzit, _brah_? Happy Birthday, man!"

Steve smiled and said, "Aloha, Danny."

To his credit, Danny barely missed a beat as he continued to his office.


	11. Reason 21

**Reason 21**

They're quick to point out, "Look, there ain't anyone else here banging down your door."

"What in the name of whatever deity you choose to insert here, are you doing showing up at my apartment door at ungodly-dark-hundred in the morning, McGarrett? And stop grinning like a dog who just got his favorite chew toy."

"I've finished my Saturday To-Do List, so I thought maybe you might have a To-Do List I could work on."

"Are you—it's six-thirty on a Saturday morning and you've already finished your To-Do's?"

"Wasn't much on the list."

"Let me guess, and just come in, will you? Neighbors do not need to see me in my altogether. Let me guess what you did this morning between your rise and shine some time around four-thirty and now."

"Okay."

"I will guess that you cleaned your entire arsenal of weapons, even though you cleaned them just last Saturday and, barring any clandestine, covert operations you've been performing while normal people sleep, haven't been used since then."

"That's a pretty good guess."

"And, _and_, I would say you have probably cleaned your entire house from the very tip-top to the corners around the front door."

"I'm not quite that anal retentive, Danny, but yeah, I did some cleaning."

"Right, and I suppose you've done your laundry already, too."

"No, Sunday's laundry day, you know that. You come over to my place to do it!"

"Good. Just making sure I didn't miss out on quarter-free washing."

"Want to know what else I did this morning?"

"Judging by the fact that you're bouncing on the balls of your feet like Grace does when she wants an ice cream cone, I'll bet it was something that you deem superbly fantastic."

"It was! Is, I mean. Is."

"Okay, well, while I'm making myself some coffee since obviously I'm not allowed to sleep in on my days off, why don't you tell me what's got your skirt blown up? Bad choice of words."

"Well, it's, uh, something I did at my house. I'd like to show you, you know?"

"McGarrett, really? This couldn't have waited four more hours so I could, I don't know, actually get some more _sleep_?"

"But it's something specifically to do with you. In a way."

"You're making a new face."

"What?"

"A new face. What is that face, and why have I never seen it before?"

"Well, what's with your tone?"

"I do not have a—"

"Yes, you do."

"Oh, my God, you know, you're really impossible. Why do you do this to me on my days off? For all you know, I could've had a hot date last night, could've had someone sleeping here in my bed and then have my partner waltz in saying he wants to take me home-"

"I didn't say I wanted to take you home, Danny—"

"And how, _why_ is it my life that _you_ are always the one barging into it?"

"Well, it's not like you have anyone else beating your door down!"

"That's because you scare everyone off!"

"I don't do it intentionally!"

"Unfortunately, I believe that completely. All right. All right, but you have to let me shower and get some coffee into my veins, and get some food into my stomach before—"

"I made breakfast."

"Come again? You're mumbling, why are you mumbling?"

"I made breakfast. It's at my house. On the warmer."

"You made breakfast."

"Yes."

"Out of what, poi?"

"No, Danny, that's not breakfast food, it's a—"

"Spare me, it doesn't taste like anything, I've tried it. So what's this breakfast, then? Protein shakes? Granola bars? Cream o' Wheat?"

"I don't eat Cream o' Wheat, Danny."

"Right. Too many carbs or something, probably."

"Actually—no, never mind. Just…never mind."

"Wait, where are you going? You promised me breakfast!"

"Well, get in the shower and you'll get some!"

"That did not sound right, Steven."

"Good. I'll wait in the truck."

"You? Are a nutcase."

"Thank you."

* * *

><p>"Why are we going to your second floor?"<p>

"Because, Danny, that's where the thing I did this morning is."

"Okay, you know what? That's just TMI, my friend, there are some things a man does that his partner absolutely does _not_ need to—"

"Get your mind out of the gutter, Danno."

"Okay, okay, fine, show me, then."

"Open this door."

"Isn't this Mary's old room?"

"It _was_ Mary's old room. Open it."

"Fine, fine, oh—my. You painted."

"Yes."

"And redecorated."

"I did."

"And why is my daughter's name stenciled onto the wall above a brand-new canopy bed?"

"Because it's her room."

"Her…what?"

"Well, you know, she and I had a talk the other day when we were going through Mary's toys and books, you know, when you brought her over for some beach and barbecue with the team, and she said she wished she could have a room like that."

"So you conspired with my daughter to give her a bedroom of her own in _your house_? Does none of that seem _odd_ to you, giving your partner's daughter a bedroom in _your house_?"

"Um…no. Well, it's not like it'll get used by anyone else, Danny."

"You know, I see this for what it is. I see it so clearly and if I didn't love my baby girl so much, I would string you both up by your toenails from the nearest coconut tree."

"What are you talking about?"

"This is an attempt to get me to come over here every single time I have Grace, because now she knows she has her own room _in my partner's house_, she will not want to stay in my apartment with me. You are seriously disturbed, you're rubbing off on her. You are _not_ a good influence, and you are taking way too many liberties with my father/daughter time, McGarrett."

"So…you don't like the room? Grace picked everything out."

"That's low. That is so low. I really do _not_ like you right now."

"Well, when you go to pick her up today, don't tell her that. She thinks you like me a lot."

"She…why would she think that?"

"How would I know? It's just what she said."

"Okay, you and Grace? No more alone time together. As in, ever. And now I want that breakfast you promised me."

"Sure, come on. So you, uh…you like the room?"

"It's beautiful, Steve, really. I'm sure she'll squeal loud enough for Maui to hear, maybe even Los Angeles, when she sees it. But where exactly am I supposed to sleep? And why exactly is it you're grinning like a Cheshire cat?"

"Because there are two more bedrooms, Danno. I'll show them to you after breakfast."

"Oh, my _God_, you made _me_ a bedroom, didn't you? Oh, my God, this is so wrong on so many levels."

"Just eat your breakfast, Danny."

"Sausage? Eggs? Toast? Bacon? _And_ pancakes? Holy shit, you can _cook_?"

"Of course I can cook. Now, you and Grace, you're staying here tonight, right? In your new rooms?"

"In our new…I do _not_ know what to do with you. But you'd better watch it, or I'll start showing up at the most inopportune times, like when your pretty lieutenant is visiting."

"She, uh…won't be here anymore. She's gotten herself engaged to someone."

"Oh. Well, I might just have to make my visits even _more_ frequent, then."

"Okay, maybe making the rooms for you and Grace was a mistake. It wasn't an invitation to move in, just a place that's nice to keep Grace at."

"What if I like it so much I just won't leave? Houseguest from hell who's desperate for a real bed, that's me. Besides, it'll keep you from getting lonely."

"I don't get lonely."

"Yes, you do. That is why you get up at two-thirty in the morning—"

"You said four-thirty before."

"Yes, but now that I've seen what your To-Do List entailed, I've revised my estimate. You are lonely, you can't sleep, you paint rooms and clean your house and God knows what else and then come to wake me up at six-thirty on my day off."

"So? What makes you think that means I want you hanging around here all the time?"

"Well, let's face it, McGarrett. It's not like anyone else is banging down your door."

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong> Well, folks, that's the end of this list of reasons! I hope you've all enjoyed these, they were an awful lot of fun to dream up!


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